


Four Times They Needed Saving + One Time They Didn't

by RajKumariDulhan



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, Slytherin Clarke Griffin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22880695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RajKumariDulhan/pseuds/RajKumariDulhan
Summary: Four times Bellamy and Clarke saved one another, and one time no one needed saving at all. Hogwarts AU because there can never be enough of them.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 131





	Four Times They Needed Saving + One Time They Didn't

i. CLARKE

Clarke was losing the fight. She was alone, outnumbered, and her opponents outweighed her by a good 50 pounds each. She had been walking down to the Great Lake and had seen them; three burly boys bullying a twelve-year-old Hufflepuff boy, probably for no other reason than he was alone, scrawny, and a Hufflepuff. Naturally, Clarke tapped one on the shoulder, and when his face turned toward her she punched him in the face. Another one got a swift bat-bogey hex. While the hex put one boy out of commission (at least for a minute or so), her punch didn’t do much lasting damage. So now here she was, cornered, with a cut under her eye and thinking of the best way to get out of this predicament. The Hufflepuff had run away at the first opportunity, and she had just raised her wand again when previously-punched-in-the-face-guy went down, and went down hard. By his slack face and the blue-ish light now fading from the area, Clarke figured he was stupefied. 

She glanced behind the other two idiots and saw a student with his wand raised. A second spell hit one bully, her knee smashed into another (in a particularly painful area). Clarke stupefied him too, for good measure.

Clarke smiled at the guy who had helped her. He didn’t look familiar, which was strange, as she knew most of Hogwarts older students and he looked to be a year or two older than her. And what a good-looking year or two older. Black, curly, unruly hair coupled with enticing eyes and what looked like a fine physique underneath dark jeans and a black t-shirt. No, she has definitely not seen him before. This one she would remember.

“Thanks for the help,” Clarke said, finding her voice. 

“No problem,” the guy replied. “Should we do something about them?”

She shrugged. “They’ll wake up eventually. Since they didn’t see you, it’s not like they’ll tell anyone they got beat up by a lone girl. I’m Clarke, by the way. Are you new here? You don’t look familiar.”

“Just started yesterday, I’m Bellamy,” he said. “And, also, lost and late for class. Can you point me in the right direction?”

She told him where his classroom was, with a shortcut to help, and watched him leave. Before he disappeared he turned around and his lips turned up at the corners, and she smiled back. Then he was gone, and Clarke was left with three unconscious idiots.

ii. BELLAMY

Bellamy was lost. (Lost  _ again  _ \- you’d think three weeks would be enough time to orient himself, but not in this castle - this place was out to get him). Not only was he lost, he was stuck. Literally stuck. He had taken a staircase he thought led to the great hall, but it had moved, and when he stepped off it into a corridor his shoes sunk. Into the floor. A floor which decided to then solidify. So, stuck.

He’d been here about five minutes, trying and failing to get out both mundanely and magically, when approaching footsteps made him look up. Clarke, he thought immediately. The girl he’d helped out his second day, who’d been trying and willing to fight three guys. Now she was here, a couple feet in front of him, all golden hair and gem-blue eyes and curves that made his brain short-circuit, just a little. 

She raised an eyebrow. “You stuck?”

“Nope, I did this on purpose. It’s a peaceful protest against the unfair handling of squibs by magical governments in the Americas.”

“Oh, is that it? In that case I’ll leave you to it,” Clarke said, turning to leave.

“Clarke,” Bellamy growled out. “Can you help me?”

She crossed over and smiled down at him (he had sunk so far into the ground that she was now an inch or two above his height). 

“Yeah, I can help you. Funnily enough, you’re not the first person I’ve had to save from this floor. This will be my fifth.”

Bellamy looked at her strangely. “Why do you come here so much if you know the floor swallows feet?”

“It’s a shortcut to the Slytherin common room,” she said. “If you walk near the walls you’re fine. Easy enough to avoid the situation you’re in. And as to how to get out of it - just stand still.”

Bellamy did as told. Clarke raised her wand and muttered a couple of words so that violet light shot out and hit the ground near his feet. 

Nothing happened.

“Did you forget how to save me, because I don’t envy living here forever.”

Clarke chuckled, a low throaty laugh that fit her perfectly. 

“The floor will let you go now, but you have to apply force to activate the spell. Hold onto my hands.”

She held out her arms and he grabbed her hands with his own. With more strength than he thought she’d have, she pulled him up and out of the floor. But as his feet were enclosed in floor for ten minutes, they were more or less asleep, and he toppled right over into her. They both fell right back to the ground. (Thankfully this part of the floor didn’t seem to feel like sinking them.) He cushioned her head with his hand at the last moment, and tried not to land too heavily onto her body. Her soft, warm body. Now Bellamy had a new problem. A stunning, clever, badass girl was lying under him, every part of his body touching every part of her body. Her bright eyes latched onto his as he made no move to get back up. 

She shifted under him and his breath caught; her eyes burned brighter as her breath caught too. 

“Thanks for saving me,” Bellamy said, his voice low and a little gravely.

“I’d say you owe me one, but this is actually me returning the favor,” she replied, her voice low as well.

“I can owe you one,” he said, dipping his head a little lower, his mouth now inches from hers. “What do you want in return?”

A wicked gleam came over her eyes as she opened her mouth to respond - just as the end of period bell clamored around them.

Bellamy scrambled to his feet and Clarke did the same. 

“I’ve got Magical Politics and Government in five minutes,” Clarke said.

“Potions,” he said, indicating himself.

Clarke smiled, a gleam in her eyes; “Until next time.”

iii. CLARKE

Clarke was losing her mind with boredom. History of magic was dull, at least the way Professor Binns taught it. She groaned inwardly, decided she couldn’t take it anymore, and left the class to go wander the halls for a bit. (Professor Binns wouldn’t realize - his classroom could be filled with fire-breathing dragons and he would still drone on, unperturbed). The halls were very quiet and she hadn’t seen another student since she left the class, so she was surprised when she smacked face-first into a broad chest after rounding a corner.

Bellamy. She grinned up at him but something was off - his eyes were a little glazed, and different emotions kept flickering over his face; anger, guilt, embarrassment, joy. 

“Bellamy?” she asked. “Are you alright?”

At that, Bellamy burst out laughing. Not a little chuckle but a full-bellied and full-bodied laugh. Hands on his knees, he just kept roaring with laughter. Clarke looked on, dumbfounded, but between one second and the next he straightened up, his face very serious, and asked if  _ she  _ was ok.

“What are you talking about? I’m fine,” she said, a bit confused from the intensity of his voice.

“Are you sure? Let me check you for head injuries, or other injuries, or are you sick? Should I take you to Madame Pomfrey?”

A bewildered expression crossed her face. What had gotten into him? 

Between one breath and the next, Bellamy changed course again. “Clarke, did you hear that?” he whispered, his mouth close to her ear. “I think something’s coming, we need to hide!”

He grabbed her hand and sprinted toward a nook in the wall, his arms pulling her close to him as to protect her from some unknown evil. Clarke’s ear pressed against Bellamy’s chest, where she could hear how fast his heart was beating. His voice trembled as he repeated “Something’s coming, we’ll be ok, something’s coming, we’ll be ok…”

_ Crap _ . Clarke knew what this was - Bellamy had gotten into a Motus potion somehow, probably unwillingly. A legion of emotions were coursing through him and he was powerless to control or stop them. As much as Clarke found this Bellamy hilarious, she knew he was going to be  _ livid _ when the potion wore off. She extracted herself from his arms and grabbed his hand, leading the way to the hospital wing.

“Come on Bellamy, I know just what to do.”

Those maybe weren’t the right words, since Bellamy’s grip on her hand tightened and he said “yeah you do Clarke, you know just what to do” in a voice that was  _ not _ referring to fixing his ailment. She really needed to keep her mouth shut and eyes ahead of her until Bellamy was himself again. Clarke thought she could do that, up until Bellamy cried out behind her and started rambling “I’m so sorry so sorry Clarke I’m sorry please forgive me sorry sorry sorry…”

She muffled her laughter and pulled him faster to the hospital wing

iv. CLARKE

Clarke was at a ROR Party thrown by best-friends and self-declared party masters, Jasper and Monty. They’d invited all students aged 16 or above and completely decked out the room. A bar along the far wall, comfy couches, tables, and chairs everywhere, even a dance floor for those who felt the call. Clarke was having a blast with Raven and Harper, drinking butterbeer while playing a game of Who Could Turn Turn Jasper’s Drink Into The Funniest Object (Raven was currently winning, as she turned his drink into a live chicken right as he was about to take a sip). Roaring with laughter and just a tiny bit tipsy, Clarke headed to the bar for another drink. A body leaned against the bar next to her and cleared his throat. Finn, a pleading look plastered on his face. She rolled her eyes, all prepared to tell him to go to hell for whatever groveling came out of his mouth. But a better opportunity presented itself in the form of Bellamy Blake, walking through the door in dark jeans and a black t-shirt, hair askew and gleaming dark skin and adorable glasses to boot.

(Bellamy had been mortified after the last incident, simultaneously apologizing to Clarke while threatening to hunt down and find whoever spiked his drink. She brushed it off with a “it wasn’t your fault,” and left him with a “besides, it was rather entertaining”)

Across the ROR, Bellamy’s eyes searched the room for something, stopping when he caught her eye. Clarke grimaced at him, eyes darting to Finn and back, and mouthed “save me”.

His eyes flickered between her and Finn as he walked toward them. Clarke didn’t need saving - she could handle Finn easily. But if she could kill two birds with one stone, why not?

Bellamy made his way to her, opening his mouth to say something, but was cut short by Clarke’s lips on his and her hands around his neck and her body pressed against his. She threw herself at him, wanting to feel his mouth and lips and tongue. She felt rather than heard Finn’s surprise and disappointment as he left. Bellamy must have too because he broke off the kiss to glance at Finn’s now vacated space.

“He’s gone now,” he said, voice husky, eyes dilated.

“So?” she replied, voice breathless.

Bellamy grinned wickedly, leaning forward to once again capture Clarke’s lips with his. This kiss was slower, softer, but still made her toes curl and heat to form low in her belly. He cradled her head in one hand, the other pulling her closer to him by the small of her back. Clarke was overwhelmed by his scent and his taste and his being and she was almost light headed when she pulled away.

“Thanks for the save,” she managed to croak out.

“Anytime, Clarke, anytime.”

+i BELLAMY

Bellamy needed Clarke to help him again. They were unpacking boxes in their new house - three bedrooms, exposed brick, a kitchen for Bellamy and an art studio for Clarke (warded against the many kinds of magical “art” she liked to explore). He had gotten himself stuck (an affinity of his, it seemed). He couldn’t detach his hand from an unopened box, a plain cardboard one at that. No matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t come off

“Clarke! Can you come help me? My hand’s glued to a box.”

He hoped he sounded normal; no hint of nervousness or anxiety bleeding through. His girlfriend appeared in the doorway, still as stunning as the first time he saw her, way back at Hogwarts near the lake, all those years ago.

“You need me to save you again?” she asked. “You really are good at getting stuck in places, stuck to things, stuck with me.”

He laughed. “That last one’s not so bad. But yeah, I need rescued. Just see if you can open the box, maybe that’ll release my hand.”

Clarke looked skeptical but opened the box - with magic, not her hand. But inside the box was another one, and as soon as the second box appeared Bellamy’s hand attached to that one instead. This one was a nice wooden one, red and green and gold and silver.

“What the hell.” Clarke muttered.

She waved her wand and opened that box - and a third appeared, this one a shimmery gold with bright blue stones set into the edges. A frustrated crease appeared between her eyebrows as she unveiled a fourth box (Bellamy’s hand once again stuck to it like a magnet). The size of her fist, this box was midnight black with twinkling stars on all sides. 

“What is this!” Clarke huffed.

“I don’t know, but just keep going, there can’t be many more,” Bellamy said, in a voice decidedly not normal this time. Clarke gave him a weird look but continued, opening the night sky box as well.

Bellamy could feel, with the last box, that his hand was his own again. However, instead of dropping the last, very small box, he held it out to Clarke and said, “You open it. I don’t trust it.”

Clarke gave him a strange look again but took the (fairly nondescript) box and opened it - to find a beautiful ring. She looked back at Bellamy and he said, with as steady voice as he could, “Will you marry me?”

She looked at him, at the ring, at the boxes scattered around them, and said in a voice both fond and exasperated and loving, “Did you orchestrate all of this just to ask me to marry you?”

“Yep,” Bellamy said happily. “So what do you say?”

Clarke threw her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his. “You know I would have said yes with no fanfare at all. Did you just want me to save you again?”

“Well, it is our thing,” Bellamy said, joy in his heart and lungs and body. 

Clarke laughed as she pulled the ring on her finger and pulled him to the bedroom. “Yes, yes it is.”


End file.
